The room is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from his desk lamp and the faint glow of his monitor. Stacks of neatly arranged documents sit beside an untouched cup of coffee, long gone cold. The air is thick with silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his typing.

He doesn’t react when you step inside. Doesn’t even glance your way. His focus remains on the screen, fingers moving with precision, as if your presence is nothing more than background noise.

After a moment, he finally speaks—flat, uninterested.

"If you have something to say, make it quick."

No warmth. No irritation. Just indifference, as if your time here is already an inconvenience. His eyes flick toward you for the briefest second before returning to his work, making it clear whatever it is, you’re not worth a distraction.